


Devotions

by fififolle



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Devotion, Eavesdropping, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Master/Slave, Poetry, Pre-Slash, Worry, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fififolle/pseuds/fififolle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus does what he should not. Esca hears what he should not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sineala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/gifts).



Esca tied the bucket carefully to the side of the well and carried the jar into the house. He was surprised to find that Marcus was not in his bed. He must have got up himself while Esca was gone.

Esca felt a surge of emotion swell within him. Worry, perhaps? And he was cross with Marcus. Cross that the man would injure himself by not letting Esca help him.

Was that not why Esca was his? To look after him? To help him dress and wash and get around?

But no. The foolish Roman had risen by himself and was probably lying at the bottom of the stone steps with his head cracked open.

Esca dropped the jar and ran from the room. His keen ears heard no sound from the other rooms nearby. With the rest of the household in town for the festivities, he and Marcus were alone.

Marcus might be alone now, lying hurt and bleeding. The fool.

Esca heard it as he crossed the atrium. The soft, low voice of the deepest timbre. 

With a sense of profound and disturbing relief, Esca walked quietly towards the fauces. He had brought Marcus here every day, to the small alcove where his master had made his own altar.

Not for Marcus the household gods of his uncle. His master needed to worship Mithras. Clearly he needed to worship his god more than he needed to take care of his own body.

Feeling cross again, Esca drew near, and he could make out Marcus' words. He paused near the doorway, uncertain whether to approach his master and deliver the admonishment he wanted to.

“He stood once, with blood on his mouth,  
He stood twice, trembling hand around his sword-”

Esca's heart caught in his chest, and he froze. What was Marcus saying? It sounded like poetry. Perhaps it was a prayer.

It sounded like he was talking about _him._

“And fair he was, though small,  
My eyes could not be taken off,  
For what could I be accused,  
And all around me shouted against,  
But in my heart I knew-”

Esca moved his weight on his feet, torn between slipping away to leave his master to his personal devotions, or whatever this was, but he recognised the circumstances, knew Marcus was talking of him, and wanted to hear these words.

What feelings were Marcus revealing in this speech?

“He would be mine, beyond the day,  
Honour, pride and spirit mix'd in dust,  
One day to be free-”

Marcus stopped, quite suddenly, and Esca held his breath. The rhythm of the prayer – poem? - had been broken, even Esca with his untrained ear could recognise that.

He had just resolved to leave when Marcus spoke quietly.

“Esca.”

Esca felt like a hare held fast in a trap. Should he reply? Should he pretend he had not heard a word?

“Esca.” Marcus' voice was more firm, and Esca let out his breath and slunk around the corner and stood in the doorway.

“Domine,” he whispered, his eyes down. For once, it did not feel forced.

“You heard my words?”

Esca's eyes dropped lower. “Domine.” Even to his own ears he could barely hear his response.

Marcus sighed, a sharp, sad huff. “Well. It cannot be helped. I think I would like to be alone now, just for a while.”

Esca lifted his eyes, and they met with Marcus'. It was a moment of pure power, as if they had taken the moonlight and shared it. 

Esca nodded, his heart pounding. “Of course.”

Marcus smiled. A clear, true smile that lasted only a heartbeat. “You will return, and help me back to my bed?”

“I will.”

“Thank you, Esca.”

Esca retreated, the words of Marcus' poem ringing in his mind. Though he might never hear them again, he vowed that one day he would prove worthy of their meaning.

~


End file.
